


The One Where Richard and Camille Utterly Fail to be Just Friends

by Million_Moments



Category: Death in Paradise
Genre: Comedy, F/M, Romance, Sequel, sexual tension of every kind
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-26
Updated: 2013-12-22
Packaged: 2017-12-30 13:28:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 12,563
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1019174
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Million_Moments/pseuds/Million_Moments
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sequel to Home Ground Advantage. When Camille said they could ‘leave it in England’, she totally had her fingers crossed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Given the nature of this story, I will probably refer to sex a lot more than I usually do! Being English and thus a prude, this will make me very uncomfortable. I imagine I will positively blush every time I type the word, or imply the characters may have been spending the evening doing something other than discussing a good book. I apologise if it makes you feel the same way.

“I didn’t expect you to like cuddling so much,” he heard Camille say from where her head was laid on his chest.

What Camille didn’t know when she made that comment was the amount of angst he had suffered over whether he should hold her after sex or not. After Ella had explained to him just who Camille’s so called ‘friends’ really were, he’d double checked on the internet and read the storyline with increasing alarm. Yup, they were a couple who had definitely failed to leave it in London. He’d gone back to his own room where he proceeded to pace back and forth and wonder what the hell he should do. Then it occurred to him that just because characters on some television show had failed, it didn’t mean _they_ would.

Richard was, without a doubt, annoyed at Camille – maybe even a bit angry. What had she been thinking? Was she trying to trick him, or just calm him down? Did she _actually_ intend to try to go back to just being friends and colleagues when they got back to Saint Marie? Well, it was a lot of questions, and they weren’t ones he was going to be able to answer himself. He thought about confronting her immediately, ceasing their relationship now rather than in a couple of days when they were due to fly back. He didn’t, and it was for one reason and one reason only: selfishness. Richard knew he was going to have to give her up, and he’d rather do that later rather than sooner.

On the bus back to Cambridge, with Camille’s head on his shoulder as she dozed (apparently he hadn’t allowed her to get enough sleep last night), he began to think of ways he could make it easier when they did have to go back. Richard was well versed in all sorts of research, there weren’t many areas of science, history or even literary criticism that he didn’t find fascinating. Therefore he knew how cuddling, well more specifically the release of oxytocin during physical contact, would promote bonding. In other words, make letting her go harder rather than easier. Thus he really shouldn’t be holding her like he was now, but if he only had her for a couple of days he decided he wanted to have every part of that experience – including the nice warm feeling he got from having her in his arms. So here they were, in her room at the hotel near Heathrow, due to get up stupidly early to check in for their flight back to Saint Marie.

Camille nudged him, and he realised she was expecting a response. He had been intending to reply, but had gotten lost in his thoughts – and very nearly just drifted off to sleep. “Sorry,” he said, giving his head a little shake to try and engage his brain. He opened his mouth to answer, then realised he didn’t really know how to respond to her original comment. “The cuddling is a good thing right?” He asked, whilst stifling a yawn, concerned her statement had been a hint that perhaps he was being too affectionate.

She laughed, which was not the response he was hoping for, but then to his relief said, “Yes, it’s a good thing. It’s ok, go back to sleep.”

“No, we can talk,” he told her. “I’m fully awake now.”

She raised an eyebrow, levelling him with a look that indicated she didn’t believe that for one moment, “It’s ok, at least you manage to cuddle me before you go to sleep. A lot of men just roll off you and fall asleep straight afterwards.”

“I don’t fall asleep _straight_ afterwards,” he muttered, to which she gave another small laugh in response.

“I said it was ok, didn’t I?” Well she had, and he probably would take her up on the offer, but now something else she had said was bothering him.

“What do you mean when you say _a lot of men_?”

She sat up and glared at him briefly, but then her features softened when she saw his expression. He wasn’t _exactly_ sure what expression that was, but he did know he was feeling a certain amount of very unmanly panic and insecurity.

“I don’t mean I’ve slept with a lot of men, stupid. But you know women talk about these things, so I have my female friends’ experiences to draw upon as well as my own.” Richard found this both calming and alarming at the same time, but Camille proved herself able to read his thoughts as she continued, “Don’t worry, I won’t be dissecting our time together with them. I know you would hate that.” She put her head back on his chest, snuggling closer.

“Right, um, thanks for that.” Considering how uncomfortable he had found the last five minutes, it really would be sensible to just drop the subject, but he felt the need to make up for accidently offending her. “I mean, you’re a grown woman, it’s not like I mind who you’ve slept with in the past. It’s just…um…” Richard wasn’t quite able to admit what had really concerned him, as he thought it would make him look anxious. He knew that wasn’t exactly an attractive quality in a man.

“What?” She asked, picking up on his hesitation. When he didn’t respond, she said it for him, “You were worried I’ve been comparing you mentally with my past lovers?” He shrugged, trying to look like it hadn’t been _particularly_ bothering him – more like a passing thought.

She gave a small sigh at his feigned nonchalance and shifted to look him in the eye when she spoke, “You don’t have to worry about that. I enjoy being with you a hell of a lot. It’s why we got zero sight-seeing done yesterday. Now, we have to get up early, so we should _both_ go to sleep.” She leaned in to kiss him goodnight, it was soft and gentle – but when she pulled back Richard placed a hand on the back of her neck to bring her back in for another, more passionate, embrace.

Sleep could wait awhile.

 

* * *

 

Richard was well aware he had to tell Camille that he knew about the truth about Monica and Chandler thing, and he should do so before they actually got back to Saint Marie. Considering they were currently sitting at the gate that left him with the choice of doing so now, or on the plane. It didn’t seem like the sort of conversation you should have when one of you would most likely be sitting next to a stranger thanks to the joys of economy class travel, so it looked like he was going to have to suck it up and tell her here and now.  

“I know,” he said simply, then regretted it because it sounded far too dramatic. Well, it had in his head, but Camille was just looking at him perplexed. Clearly it was not evident to what he was referring to after all. “I know you don’t really have friends called Monica and Chandler. Ella told me, it’s a story from a TV series.”

“Oh,” she said quietly, leaning forward in her seat and looking at the ground. “Are you very mad?”

“No,” he told her sincerely. “Looking back on it my reaction was a _little_ unreasonable. I can understand why you might have been desperate enough to calm me down that you had to…utilise a less than true example. Overall you probably did the right thing.” She opened her mouth to speak, but he held up a hand, because if he didn’t saying everything now he might not ever do so. “I also know that in the show that pair of characters were not exactly successful in maintaining their vow to go back to being just friends when they got home. But Camille, it _can’t_ be that way for us. There is too much at stake, all of the things I was worried about are still true.” He was afraid to look at her, in case he changed his mind immediately, so he stared resolutely at the floor. He felt her shift beside him, sitting up again, and heard her sigh.

“I know. I’m not planning to tell you I’m still on British time when we land and drag you off to bed.” He smiled, he remembered that from the Wikipedia article.

“Good, right, um, I think I’ll grab a cup of tea before we have to board. Do you want anything?”

“Last dalliance in that emergency stairwell?” Richard whipped up his head to look at her, quite frankly shocked at the suggestion, but she was smiling. “I’m _joking_. A cappuccino will be fine.”

 

* * *

 

 

Camille watched as he walked away, a woman a few rows across gave her a sympathetic look and she realised her emotions must be etched on her face. She had genuinely been joking about the stairwell, but if he had agreed she would have followed through on the suggestion. When they’d made love the night before, she hadn’t actually thought it would be their last time. She thought they’d be back on the island for less than a day before she brought him round, now she wasn’t so sure. His determined little speech made her question if she had really made the most of the time they’d had together, hence the jokey suggestion of another round.

Camille shook herself mentally, as determined as Richard might be that their romantic relationship cease the second they got on the plane she was even more determined that it would not be the case. She did not, for one minute, think she was in this deeper than he was. The way he looked at her, touched her and said her name – they weren’t the actions of a man who did not care. Not to mention the fact that in many ways he was old fashioned and also a little insecure – both qualities meant he was unlikely to sleep with her unless he had feelings for her. Once they were back on Saint Marie she would come up with a plan. He wouldn’t have a hope in heavens chance of resisting her.

She had the home ground advantage after all. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I thought it would take me forever to start this sequel, but apparently I get a lot of ideas when I am out walking the walls because the plot for the first two chapters just hit me like a ton of bricks.


	2. Chapter 2

The murder case that landed on his lap the second they walked back into the station was an absolute blessing. Well, obviously not for the person who was killed or their family and friends – but it did mean that Richard had an instant distraction from Camille. For two days they didn’t have time for anything but professionalism. When it suddenly became clear to him just who the killer was, he was apprehensive for two reasons. Firstly, the suspect was known to have a short fuse and had 3 assault charges to him name and secondly, he knew he was about to lose the one thing that had been keeping him sane.

Given the subject’s nature, Richard decided this was probably an arrest they should make with as few people around as possible. He presented the evidence to the rest of the time, then informed them he was off to arrest Mr Clayton as he came back from his day fishing. He _tried_ not to be offended when 3 faces looked back at him doubtfully, but it did rather pique him.

“What?” He asked, though Richard had a pretty good idea what was coming.

“Maybe you should let me and Fidel handle this one, Chief,” Dwayne suggested. “I’ve arrested him before, know what he’s like. You’ve done the hard work finding the evidence to prove it was him, we can do the messy part of picking him up.”

“I’m perfectly capable of arresting him myself!” He snapped back. Before the trip to London, he wasn’t entirely sure he would have objected so strongly to the implications of Dwayne’s statement. A small voice in his head pointed out that perhaps he wanted to prove he could arrest Mr Clayton without incident because he, of all people, was trying to impress _a girl_. However that voice was clearly mistaken, because he had no need to impress Camille. Squashing it along with the certain amount of nerves he was feeling, he marched out of the station without a backwards glance.

 

* * *

 

 

Camille rolled her eyes at Richard’s stubbornness. He was a brilliant detective, he didn’t need to bring down men twice his size to prove that. Fidel and Dwayne were giving her almost imploring looks, clearly genuinely concerned their boss was about to get his ass kicked.

“Camille, he’ll get himself killed. Should we follow him?” Fidel asked.

“No, no, I’ll go with him. He won’t object to me being there.” Her fellow officers immediately relaxed, clearly they had no concerns about her ability to protect herself…and Richard. Actually she could sort of understand why he got a bit defensive when Dwayne suggested he took the arrest, especially when Dwayne was actually a couple of years older than him. It probably _was_ a bit emasculating. She would have to be extra careful that he didn’t think that she was coming just to protect him.

He was staring at the jeep, frowning. Because of his little strop he had completely forgotten that Camille was the one who had the keys. Perhaps he was considering breaking in and hot wiring it, given his vast scientific knowledge, it probably actually was a set of skills he had. It would certainly be less embarrassing than him having to come back into the station.

“Come on,” she said, as she unlocked the Defender and climbed in the driver’s seat. He looked like he was going to protest but then climbed in the passenger seat beside her.

“I don’t need your help arresting him either,” he grumbled, clearly still in a bad mood and suspicious of her motivations.

“I didn’t say you did. But it’s a long drive to the other side of the island and I thought you might like company other than Mr Clayton on the way back.” Camille told him, trying to sound as sincere as possible. “I know you don’t always appreciate my small talk but I hope it is preferable to a litany of abuse.”

“Right, yeah, of course.” He didn’t look entirely convinced by her reasons for joining him, but he didn’t question them either. “Um, thanks.”

“You’re welcome.”

 

* * *

 

 

When they pulled up at the section of the coast where Clayton moored for the evening, the man himself could be seen unloading equipment from his boat into the back of his pickup. Camille jumped down immediately from the vehicle, but Richard paused for a moment to assess their target. It seemed that it had slipped his mind earlier that the man did have a good five inches on him. As a consequence he rummaged through the supplies in the vehicle to ensure he had everything he needed.

 

* * *

                                                                                                                                                                                        

Camille knew Clayton was tall, but she had forgotten just _how_ tall. She sort of wished she was armed – not because she relished shooting people, but many a man in her time had been subdued by the mere site of a weapon. Most people were smart enough to know they could not move faster than a bullet. However she’d had to learn to live without her weapon long before she moved on to the Saint Marie police force – you could hardly carry one when you were undercover – so she was still confident she could defend herself. In fact, if Mr Clayton did try to attack her, she was more worried Richard would be stupid enough to make a move to try to defend her and just end up getting hurt in the process.

Clayton had spotted them, and was glaring already. Richard finally got out of the vehicle, goodness knows what he was doing in there. He was wearing a determined look and Camille had to hide a smile. She walked just behind him as they approached their suspect.

“This is police harassment!” Clayton spat before they had said anything at all. “I’ve answered your questions, what else could you possibly want from me?”

“Well, we’re arresting you for the murder of Susan Cash. You do not have to say anything, but it may harm your defence if you do not mention, when questioned, something which you later rely on in court. Anything you do say may be given in evidence. If you would come along quietly, that would be most appreciated.” Did Richard actually think asking nicely was going to work on this man? They should have cuffed him before he knew what was happening!

“Do you honestly think you two could subdue me if I decided I didn’t want to?” Clayton sneered. “Because I am 100% sure I can take you on. So you know what, I don’t think I will.” He was squaring up now, sending off every single signal he intended violence they were taught to look for in training.

Camille was trying to make a quick decision about where it would be most effective to hit Mr Clayton first, when she saw Richard remove and engage an extendable baton parallel to his leg. She saw Clayton hesitate for a moment, the sight of the baton enough to make him question his actions. He clearly decided it wasn’t a threat after all, because the next second he was lunging for Richard. The warning she opened her mouth to give was entirely unnecessary. With his left arm Richard easily blocked Clayton’s arm, then struck him on side of the torso with the baton. With Clayton suitably distracted by the pain of that strike, it didn’t take much effort for Richard to drive forward with the baton and knock their suspect to the ground. He then calmly retrieved his cuffs and restrained Clayton where he lay.

Camille hoped that she was not a shallow person. She always tried to look past the surface of people and really get to know them. Though many of her friends may express a desire to have a man make them feel safe, displays of physical strength or skills were not necessary for her to find a man attractive. If they were, she would not have fallen in love with somebody who she genuinely believed she could beat in a fist fight. Yet, despite all of her high and mighty views about always looking at a person as a whole, she had still just found Richard subduing the suspect incredibly sexy. If it weren’t for the fact the man was still writhing on the beach in pain, she would probably throw herself at him this very moment.

“Help me get him up, will you?” Richard’s voice brought her back to reality, and they each took an arm to pull Clayton to his feet and loaded him in the back of the jeep.

After they had shut the doors, she turned to him and said breathlessly, “That was very impressive.” She only just managed to resist the urge to laugh lightly and toss her hair.

“Yeah well you lot seem to think I was born a DI or something. I did used to be a PC once, had to arrest plenty of people bigger than me and did my fair share of riot control and raids.” His response was rather brusque, he clearly though Camille’s compliment had been due to her doubting his skills in the first place. The man could really hold a grudge.

“Yes, but, what I mean is, can you teach me how to use that?” She had suddenly seen a route to being able to spend some more time with him.

“You don’t know how to use an extendable baton?” He looked at her doubtfully.

“My training was in France, remember? We were armed so we didn’t spend much time on other defensive techniques.”

“Ah yes, sometimes I do forget you’re French, though I don’t know how given how often you do or say something to remind me of the fact,” he said sarcastically. Camille narrowed his eyes at him, but he just smirked in response. “Well, I’m hardly overcome with concern for your safety at the revelation, you have obviously had extensive hand to hand training and I’m pretty confident you can look after yourself with or without a baton…”

“Thank you!” Camille was actually genuinely pleased with the compliment. It was always nice to hear somebody recognising your skills, especially somebody who a year ago would have never thought to do so. She had clearly trained him well.

“…But since you are interested, I will look into what courses are available. It _is_ safer to disarm with a baton than hand to hand as well.” With that he went to climb back into the vehicle. Camille frowned, this was not part of her plan.

As she climbed into the driver’s seat she asked, “Why can’t you just teach me?”

He looked like the answer should be obvious, “I’m not a qualified trainer, am I?”

“I’m not exactly after a certificate, Richard. As you pointed out I have several other skills in my arsenal, so some casual training would be more than enough,” she argued back.

“But we haven’t got any of the necessary equipment!”

“Do we have extendable batons?” She asked calmly.

“Yes…but…”

“Well what else do we need?”

“Well there are health and safety issues, so personal protective equipment should really be worn and…”

She cut him off, “I promise not to sue if you accidently bruise me or something.” He didn’t reply to that, but she didn’t take his silence as agreement either. Richard often just dropped a subject and hoped you forgot about it, but this was a request she fully intended to pursue.  

 

* * *

 

 

“Dwayne call Dr Johnston please, I think Mr Clayton might have cracked a rib.”

The request rather amused Dwayne. He picked up the receiver as Richard escorted the prisoner to the cells. Whilst it was ringing he asked Camille, “You punch him in the ribs?”

“It wasn’t me who took him down, it was the Inspector.” This surprised Dwayne so much it took him a few moments to realise the phone had actually been answered. “Uh yes, Dr Johnston, could you perhaps come to the station to check a prisoner over?”

After he had sorted out the request, he checked the Chief was still talking to the prisoner in the cells, before turning to Camille and indicating she should really elaborate on her earlier statement.

“He is apparently rather skilled at using a baton. Said something about having done riot control when he was a PC,” she said with a small shrug and a smile. “I believe he may have more skills than we give him credit for. I want him to give me a couple of lessons but he is refusing on health and safety grounds.”

Dwayne snorted, “More like he doesn’t want to lose the only method of defence he has against you.”

“I would think you would know more about beating off women with a stick, Dwayne.” Ah, the Chief had come back in. Oh well, what he had said was quite cheeky, but their boss had gotten a lot more relaxed about the odd bit of teasing. Besides, it was also quite possibly true.   

“Yes, Chief,” he said with a grin, before returning to his desk.

“Well perhaps you can teach me then, Dwayne, since the Inspector is unwilling too.” Dwayne was a little surprised by the request, he was well aware that Camille could look after herself. When he looked at her, he noted she had her best “I’m so hard done by” face on, and he realised the request was not fully serious. She was up to something, but he wasn’t sure what.

“I said I would send you on an official course!” Richard protested, meaning Dwayne did not actually have to provide an answer.

“Yes, but our resources are so limited you see, I’d hate to be a drain on them. Besides, it could be _months_ before the next course. You mentioned it was safer to disarm with a baton than hand to hand and you know I would _really_ prefer not to be shot for a third time.”

Dwayne was really not sure why Camille was apparently desperate to get baton training from the Inspector, but what the hey - he was always willing to help out a fellow officer.

“Actually Camille I am not sure I am the best person to teach you. I was supposed to attend the refresher course over a year ago but like you said, limited resources and all that,” he said apologetically.

The Inspector gave an aggressive sigh, and he watched as Camille hid a smile in response – she knew that she had won. Next time he was out on patrol with Fidel, he’d definitely be discussing this with the young sergeant. It looked to Dwayne that a week away together had had an interesting effect on his senior officers’ relationship.

 

* * *

 

 

Richard could not believe he’d agreed to this. It was like a recently sober alcoholic saying, ‘Oh sure, I’ll come down the pub during happy hour and watch you lot get drunk.’ He should be doing everything he could to avoid being alone with her until the memories of their time together were a little less…intense. Richard also couldn’t figure out if Camille’s request had been entirely innocent, was she hoping for something to happen between them again or was he being vain, assuming that she would even want that?

“Richard?” Camille prompted, a small smirk on her lips. He’d gotten distracted when she turned up on his porch in a strappy top and shorts. She was wearing a sports bra, he could see the straps, and though such a thing was hardly sexy compared so some of the lingerie he knew she owned, for some reason he found the site of it a turn on. Yup, he was definitely like a recovering addict.

“Right, ok, first off is engaging the baton…”

“Hang on, is that what you’re wearing?” She indicated his shirt and dress trousers. He had actually removed the tie and rolled his sleeves up, so he wasn’t sure what the problem was.

“Well I think I demonstrated yesterday you can use a baton in a suit so I hardly think it’s necessary to question what I’m wearing,” he grumbled.

“Ok, good point. Actually I think it’s quite a good look on you. Not sure I’ve ever seen you with your jacket _and_ tie off before.”

“I think we both know you have.” God, _why_ did he say that? Richard liked accuracy, it was true, but now was not the moment to remind Camille she had seen him naked – especially since it reminded him he had seen her naked.

“True, but we never paused at this particular stage of the undressing.” She was grinning, and Richard was well aware that he was blushing. He began to suspect his initial instinct that she was up to something had been correct.

“Anyway, as I was saying, engaging the baton…” Camille clearly thought this was something she didn’t need a lesson in, flicking the baton out and upwards. Richard sighed, “And that is a good example of how we don’t do it.”

“What is wrong with that?” She asked, frowning.

“You don’t want to engage it away from your body,” he moved to stand behind her. “When you throw it up and out like that, you could very well end up hitting the person who is standing behind you.” He moved her arm to replicate the motion she had done earlier, demonstrating how it would be easy to do. “Since I am often with you when we are on duty, that person may very well be me and I would prefer it if you didn’t break my nose. Instead, release it so that it is parallel to your leg.”

He took her through a few more standard moves. It was no surprise to him how quickly she was picking it up. He moved on to trying to integrate what she already knew from hand to hand to work with a baton. Given the heat, it wasn’t long before they were both a bit breathless. After he deflected one of her attacks (he suspected she had given very deliberate signals of her intentions so that he would be able to), Camille moved back a little and gave him her very best ‘come and get me’ look. Richard could feel his resolve crumbling. Rather than engaging her again, he collapsed the baton back down and moved further away from her.

Camille was looking rather disappointed and like she was going to plead for some more, but he spoke before she could, “I know what you’re doing.”

Her face assumed a confused, innocent look that Richard didn’t buy for one second. “This whole thing with the baton training - the physical contact, getting my heart rate up, endorphins flowing. It’s all designed to remind me of…our time in England. I should have known you’d never stick to the agreement.”

“Richard, I didn’t realise you’d find the experience so…frustrating. Though I admit I may be feeling pretty similar. Which is funny, when you think about it, I always thought physical activity was supposed to be good for releasing tension…” Oh dear Lord, now she was being deliberately provocative. He bunched both his hands into fists so that he wouldn’t be able to use them to grab her and kiss her.

“I think that is a pretty good reason you should leave, then.”

“Richard…” She began to protest.

“Don’t, Camille, just don’t! Maybe you genuinely don’t care what people think about you, but I do, ok? I _care_. So just leave.”

“Alright, I’m leaving.” He stared at the floor and listened to her gathering up her stuff, but apparently she wasn’t quite done torturing him yet. “Could really use a shower, anyway.”

Oh yes, that mental image wouldn’t be keeping him up half the night. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am pretty confident that Camille could actually beat Richard in a fist fight – a lot of people probably could! However Richard must have been a uniformed constable once, and I figured he probably would have spent ages practising with a baton in order to avoid getting the crap kicked out of him. I may have had to watch several videos intended to train people to use extendible batons on order to write this chapter. I may also have a very similar reaction to Camille if I were ever to witness Inspector Poole actually do this on the show, so perhaps I am a little shallow…


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don’t like this chapter, I don’t like it at all. But the next one is awesome.

A week, a whole week. She had never expected him to hold out that long. Camille _had_ actually had to resort to physical activity in order to release the tension, taking several long runs over the past few days. She had made a few more attempts to bring him round, though they were relatively half hearted, she felt like Richard was analysing everything she did these days to see if there was seductive purpose behind it. All that time he spent being completely oblivious to the signals she was giving out, and now he could read them easily and was deliberately not acting on them!

She watched him as he sat at his desk, apparently throwing himself into the quarterly crime statistics with an enthusiasm she had never seen before. There was a time when he used to sneak looks at her every now and then. Camille was certain he thought she didn’t notice – but she had, and used to rather like the attention. She even went as far as noticing which of her outfits seemed to garner the most attention, and wear them at times she was in a good mood with him – a rather subtle form of positive reinforcement. Despite wearing every single one of those outfits this week, and a few new ones she thought he might approve of, she had not detected one glance in her direction. He was studiously avoiding looking at her except when strictly necessary.

She missed the gentle flirting and teasing they had had before England as well. It had taken a long time before he had stopped looking uncomfortable if she flirted with him, even longer before he would occasionally dare to say anything that could be said to be flirting back. Now she was lucky if he responded to _anything_ she said that wasn’t directly work related.

Dwayne and Fidel seemed to be picking up on the tension between them, she had seen the two of them exchanging looks and raised eyebrows. They hadn’t come out and asked her directly what was going on, but she knew they wouldn’t be able told hold out much longer. Camille didn’t really want to tell them the situation as it currently stood. They would probably start trying to be helpful and find excuses to leave her and Richard alone – but the two of them were hardly subtle and Richard would easily spot what was going on, and be justifiably upset with her for telling them.

The two officers were out at the moment, so she could stare glumly at Richard without worrying about them picking up on it. He did look up and catch her though, and she didn’t change her expression fast enough and knew he had seen it. For a moment, his features did soften, so he must not be entirely unfeeling. But then his face assumed a more neutral expression, and she knew no further progress would be made today.

When he spoke, he addressed the paperwork he was still doing, “I’ll go talk to Justine Long about the upcoming trial she’ll be giving evidence at, then I’ll be heading home.” She didn’t bother to ask if he wanted her to come with him, because she knew the answer was no. If she did ask, he’d probably feel obligated to say yes even though he didn’t want to – after all, she knew Justine much better than he did. Camille had no desire to spend time with him in his current mood anyway.

“Night then,” she said, resigned. She could head home shortly herself, but decided to wait for Dwayne and Fidel to see if they wanted a drink as much as she did.

It wasn’t long until she heard them climbing the steps. They had gone out to speak to the parents of one Joan Sherwood, 15 year old girl and serial runaway. This was her fifth attempt to leave home, on the other four occasions she had been returned to her parents by helpful neighbours who spotted the girl skulking about and dragged her home. Judging by the jovial tones of her colleagues, Camille guessed that Joan was once again found.

“So who returned her this time?” She queried as they walked in the door. “Teacher? Post mistress? Or did she just change her mind and come home by herself this time?”

“Actually,” Dwayne began, putting his hat down on his desk and leaning against it. “This time she had made it as far as Guadeloupe.”

“You’re kidding!”

“No, really,” Fidel confirmed. “Her parent’s got the phone call whilst we were there.”

“How did she get past the harbour master and other dock workers? Everyone on the island knows that girl!”

“Dyed her hair pink and wore sunglasses,” Dwayne explained. Camille was actually a little impressed, clearly Joan was learning from her experiences. “She went to stay with a friend she used to go to school with. When they discovered she hadn’t exactly told her parent’s she was there the girl told her own mother, who called up Mr and Mrs Sherwood to let them know exactly where their daughter was.”

“I don’t get it, in three months she’ll be 16 and her parent’s will be powerless to stop her, why can’t she just wait?” This came from Fidel, who had attempted on several occasions to reach out to the girl and failed miserably. There weren’t any real problems at home, she was just the rebellious type. Fidel had once confessed to Camille he was terrified Rosie might grow up to be the same.

“We’ve been over this Fidel,” she reminded him gently. “So when will she be back then? And should we start a pool on when she next tries to run off?”

“Tomorrow afternoon, the people she is staying with will escort her back on the ferry. I said I’d go down and have a word with her about wasting police time, not that I think it will have any effect…” Dwayne explained.

Camille had been struck by sudden inspiration and declared, “I think we should go fetch her ourselves.”

Obviously, to Dwayne and Fidel, this decision had come out of nowhere. They were clearly confused by her sudden desire to take a keen interest in the fate of Joan Sherwood. She hurried to try and offer a likely explanation, “Well, perhaps if we treat it all very seriously she’ll understand the consequences of her actions. I assume you have the contact details of where she is in Guadeloupe, I can call and arrange it all with them.”

Dwayne gave a shrug, apparently willing to concede to her idea, “Fine, which ferry should we take over?”

“Oh no when I said ‘we’ I meant the Inspector and I would go,” she clarified. This caused the confused expressions to reappear on her fellow officers’ faces. “You know, she sees you every time she runs away. More senior officers might help drive home the message.”

“You really think the Chief will want to go all the way to Guadeloupe to collect an ungrateful runaway?” Dwayne was pretty blunt in pointing out the obvious, he probably thought Camille had gone a bit mad. She had, but not for any reason she hoped he could guess.

She shrugged, and said casually, “Well, it isn’t like we have any other cases open at the moment. Besides, I’ll tell him – you don’t have too.”

Dwayne and Fidel exchanged a significant glance, which Camille tried to ignore. Dwayne seemed satisfied he wasn’t going to get it in the neck for arranging a pointless trip to Guadeloupe, and passed Camille a scrap of paper with the number she had asked for on.

 

* * *

 

 

She wasn’t supposed to pick Richard up the next morning, since there little sparring session he had been finding his own way into work. Camille had known that if she told him of her plan last night he would never agree to it, find some way to get out of it – so she decided to spring it on him. She knew at this point she may very well be pulled up for insubordination, but she didn’t really care anymore.

Richard looked up in surprise when Camille appeared on his porch, hastily stuffing sheets of paper he had been working on into his case.

“I wasn’t expecting you,” he said, once again dressing the floor rather than her. “Has there been a murder?”

“No, um, we’re going over to Guadeloupe to pick up Joan Sherwood.” He looked up sharply, and Camille was pleased she had finally gotten his attention.

“She made it all the way to Guadeloupe this time?”

“Yup. We promised her parents we would give her a good talking to, hence why we’re heading over. Not like there has been any other cases to work on recently,” she offered by way of explanation, and he seemed willing to accept it to her surprise.

“Yes, there has been a distinct lack of work.” By work, she knew he meant distractions. “I don’t think the task requires two detectives but, hey, maybe it’ll make an impression and she’ll actually stay put for the next three months.”

“I hope not. I’ve got a bet on she makes it to St. Lucia next time,” she quipped, and she thought she saw a smile tug at the corners of his mouth. “I’ve always wanted to visit.”

 

* * *

 

 

They made the ferry crossing without anyone getting murdered, unless you count the complete death of conversation. Several times she tried to get him talking, picking subjects she knew he would have a lot to say about, but each attempt failed miserably. Eventually she gave up and resolved to be more upfront with him when they were somewhere a little more private than the deck of the ship.

When they disembarked, Camille swore she saw him glare at the French flag that flew at the port. Perhaps she should have asked him to list everything he thought was wrong with the French to get him talking. She decided if there was any need to converse in her native tongue, she wasn’t going to help him out. After all, she knew Richard spoke perfectly good French now, so he had no excuse.

“When and where do we have to meet the girl then?” He asked, pacing off towards the exit of the port without a backwards glance.

“Not until this afternoon and they’ll meet us here.” He came to an abrupt stop when he registered her words, then turned around slowly to address her.

“Then why the hell are we here at 10 o’clock in the morning, hmm?” Oh, she knew that tone well – he was really rather annoyed.

Camille wasn’t about to be intimidated, she never had been before. Instead she looked him in the eye for probably the first time in days and said calmly and firmly, “I thought we could both use the time away from Saint Marie.”

He held her defiant stare for a few seconds, but then visibly deflated, sighing and telling her, “Perhaps you’re right, you often are about these things.”

She was a little taken aback by winning so easily, but soon recovered, “Well, there is quite a nice park nearby. We could go for a walk?”

He gave a single nod, and they lapsed back into silence as she led to way to the public space.

 

* * *

 

 

Richard was desperate for her to start the conversation, because he was never going to be able to. Yet as they walked around the park (which had some rather interesting botanical specimens) the silence remained unbroken by her. Camille didn’t seriously think he’d know what to say, did she? Mind, the way he had shut down all of her attempts at conversation today, he couldn’t blame her for being hesitant in not trying again straight away. He paused by a Crape myrtle and sat on the bench that was next to it, he was rather fond of the mild, pleasant scent that was given off by the bright pink flowers.

“You know, they call this the ‘lilac of the south’, but it’s nothing like the plants my Mum grows in her garden at home.” If she was surprised by his statement about flowering bushes, she didn’t show it, opting instead to sit next to him.

“I suppose you prefer English lilacs,” she said, a resigned note to her voice.

“No, actually, I prefer this. There are, um, things in the Caribbean that I would miss if I left. Things that are better than in London.” Camille, of course, was included in those ‘things’ – she was top of the bloody list, but he could never say that directly.

“Would you miss me?” She asked, suddenly forcing his hand. He took a deep breath to tell her yes, but found the words caught in his mouth so just nodded mutely. He heard her sigh, and she continued, “Richard, I miss you now and you aren’t even gone.”

He knew exactly what she meant, “I’ve been a bit of an ass really, haven’t I?”

She gave a small laugh, agreeing with him, “You’ve been worse than when you first arrived. Do you think that the way we are now, this behaviour to try and keep me at arm’s length, that it is somehow better than what we had before? Or what we could have?”

“No, I um, of course not. I said we’d still be friends, but I’m not acting that way and, Oh Christ,” He looked at her, probably the only woman in the world willing to put up with him, and finally found the courage to say something true. “I miss you too.”

She moved as soon as the words were out of his mouth, pressing herself up against him and kissing him. This wasn’t what he intended, he was just trying to get them back to how things were before the UK, but he didn’t seem to have the strength straight away to push her off. A hand came up of its own accord to weave its way into her hair and urge her closer, a silent request she was perfectly willing to fulfil. Eventually, though, a voice in the back of his head got loud enough to warrant attention, and he found the ability to pull away from her.

“Richard!” She protested, but he held up a hand to hush her.

“Look, I…it’d be stupid to deny I miss that as well, but I still feel the same way about a, you know, romantic relationship between us. I was just, I was trying to say I want to be friends again. Camille…”

“We’re not on Saint Marie!” She cried, and the level of frustration in her tone almost made him laugh.

“Camille, if we extend the ‘leave it in London’ thing to include Guadeloupe, I will be dragging you over here every day and I really don’t think that is practical.”

“I don’t mind!” She said, before launching herself at him again. This time he only kissed her back for a few moments, before gently disentangling himself.

“Come on, stop it. I don’t want to get arrested for indecent behaviour,” his tone was firmer now, but not unkind, and he could see she was beginning to resign herself. “You know my reasons, Camille. They’re all still valid. Besides, you can do far better than me.”

“ _I_ should be the one who decides that!” Her tone was damn well sulky now, but he accepted the foul mood gladly – she would be slightly easiest to resist if she was moody with him.

“Ok, I promise to be less of an ass and to actually look at and talk to you, but can you please refrain from direct attempts at seducing me?”

She frowned briefly, then asked, “But I’m allowed indirect attempts?”

“Um, if you can figure out what one is then yes, I guess. Uh, want to get a coffee or something?”

“You’re ordering,” she said firmly. Oh well, that was a small price to pay.

 

* * *

 

 

She decided to take him to one of the nicer cafes, and also most expensive, mostly because she knew he’d insist on paying. Camille was disappointed, there was no denying it. And frustrated, all sorts of frustrated. In her wildest dreams (literally, she’d dreamt about it last night) as soon as they were on Guadeloupe and away from where people knew them he’d been unable to resist her and dragged her off into the nearest hotel. She may have even saved the directions to one that allowed check in at 11:00 am in her phone. That, obviously, was not going to happen.  But, if she looked at it logically, they had actually made quite a lot of progress. Her task was bound to be a hell of a lot easier if they were actually on speaking terms.

Oh yes, they were definitely making progress.

 


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter ended up getting rather long, so I am going to combine part of it with the next chapter.

Richard hadn’t thrown himself into a music project with this sort of intensity since he was a teenager, practising for the competition he had eventually won. He had drifted out of playing the piano whilst studying at Cambridge. In his desperate attempts to fit in he had concluded that the instrument was simply not cool – not in the way playing the guitar was. All the boys who could play the guitar seemed to instantly win women over. He briefly attempted to learn himself, but it hurt his fingers and he lacked the patience to allow the calluses to form that would eventually prevent that. He gave the guitar back to the charity shop where he had bought it and resigned himself to having to use his winning personality to attract women.

Well, it had worked occasionally. Very, very occasionally…

Richard still felt bad about keeping Camille at arm’s length, even though he knew his actions were designed to protect her. These past few days since Guadeloupe he felt he could constantly detect an air of melancholy about her, despite the smiles and teasing and light flirting they had returned to. Dwayne and Fidel seemed to have relaxed a little, perhaps thinking that the two of them had sorted out whatever had been causing the tension. Camille was a consummate actress but he could tell she was not as happy as she outwardly appeared.

Richard felt that if he wasn’t giving her everything she wanted, he could damn well at least give her what she requested for her birthday. Hence why he was working so hard – though she had been impressed by his performance at the wedding he was actually pretty rusty and needed some serious practise. Saint Marie wasn’t exactly overrun with pianos. He was forced to ask a favour of Father Charles at the school to use the one in their music room, though the Priest had dismissed Richard’s attempts to find a way to pay for using the room. Richard was grateful the school had now broken up for the summer, he hardly wanted an audience. He had spent a lot of time trying to decide how exactly he was going to get her up there without drawing too much attention to the two of them and therefore attracting questions. In the end Richard had decided to just pick her up for work tomorrow (she hadn’t wanted the day off to his surprise) and take her straight there to get the whole thing out of the way.

Catherine had commanded him to ensure that Camille arrived in time for her surprise birthday lunch. Apparently 35 warranted a larger than normal celebration, though he couldn’t quite figure out why. He made a mental note to continue to hide his age from as many people as possible for fear they would make similar arrangements for his birthday next year. Richard wasn’t sure how surprised Camille would actually be, he doubted a detective of her calibre would fail to notice the preparations Catherine had been making. Perhaps having him be the one who took her to the party had been part of Catherine’s plan – outwardly Richard would seem an unlikely candidate to perform such a task. Catherine had implied that she would withdraw his tea privileges if he didn’t, so he really had no choice in the matter.

Sitting on the porch at home, he stared at the sheets of paper in front of him and knew he wouldn’t really need them – he had it pretty much memorised off by heart. He felt very nervous all of the sudden, worried that she wasn’t actually going to like it. Well, perhaps it would be better if she didn’t – might put her off him. He still hadn’t figured out what had, well, put her on him in the first place.

 

* * *

 

 

When the alarm went off, Camille slapped at the device and cursed herself for not taking up the offer of a day off. There were a few good reasons why she hadn’t. Though she didn’t think 35 was anything that special, her mother had other ideas. If she had taken the day off she would have been forced to celebrate all day, and currently she was not in the mood for that. This way, she only had to put up with the ‘surprise’ dinner party her mother had arranged for her at lunch, and then the normal drinks with friends and family after work. The other reason was that this way she was guaranteed to see Richard. She was sort of hoping he might be in the mood to relent a little, since it was her birthday.

She heard her front door open and her Mother call out a cheery greeting. Despite being now well into her thirties, he mother did insist on still making her the birthday crepes she had loved so much as a child. No doubt she would have brought a massive tub of Nutella with her, though last year’s jar was still in her cupboard. Since she left her teens behind the only time Camille ate the stuff was her birthday, and that was largely to keep her Mother happy. She gave a small sigh and resigned herself to her fate, dragging herself out of bed to shower before breakfast.

 

* * *

 

 

Hair still damp, Camille sat down at the table to find a pile of crepes larger than she ever imagined, and she was suddenly suspicious. “Are we having guests for breakfast?”

“No!” Catherine said breezily as she arranged various toppings in front of her. “These are all for you! Eat up!”

“I can’t eat all of these, there have got to be 10 crepes here _Maman!_ ” Camille protested.

Her Mother sat across from her, and looked suddenly serious, “Well you have been looking thin recently – not eating as much as you used to. I think it’s time you turned that around.”

It was true that her appetite had been a bit more subdued recently, but she had lost at most half a kilo, the food in front of her would guarantee she put on twice that – something she did not hesitate to inform her Mother of. She shrugged in response, and told Camille to just eat as many as she could then.

About halfway through her third (and very likely final) crepe a car horn sounded outside – she had forgotten Richard had said he would pick her up this morning. She hadn’t quite figured out why he was, it wasn’t there usual routine, and secretly she hoped he was up to something. It was much more likely that he just thought she shouldn’t be driving him around on her birthday though.

Catherine huffed loudly, “He is far too early to pick you up! It’s your birthday for goodness sake!”

“ _Maman,_ he didn’t know you were going to be here,” she said in Richard’s defence. “For all we know he could be here early because he planned to take me out for breakfast!”

Catherine’s response was a single raised eyebrow to indicate her incredulity. Camille was willing to admit her proposed scenario was a little unlikely. The horn sounded again. “Oh honestly, can’t the man just come in!” Camille tried not to grin, knowing Richard he was probably scared to come in in case she used it as an opportunity to jump him again. Little did he know that was highly unlikely to happen considering her mother’s presence. “Alright then, since you can’t eat all of these perhaps Richard can help, I’ll go invite him in!” Catherine announced this and was out the door before Camille could protest.

 

* * *

 

 

Richard sat in the car, debating if he should sound the horn for a third time. That seemed rude – sounding it a second time was a bit rude but he wasn’t sure being alone in Camille’s house with her was the best plan. The door opened, and he sighed in relief that he wouldn’t have to fetch her after all. Then he realised that it was not Camille approaching the vehicle, but Catherine. That, he had not expected, and he suddenly felt a little nervous. He hadn’t seen that much of Catherine since he and Camille had returned from the UK and he was suddenly convinced the woman would take one look at him and know he had slept with her daughter.  

He rolled down the window and cleared his throat, “Um, good morning Catherine. I was just here to, er, pick up Camille for work. Is she ok?”

He could see Catherine was bemused by his nervousness, but she didn’t comment on it.             “Oh she’s fine, still eating her birthday breakfast, a little tradition of ours. Why don’t you come in? I have made plenty of food and Camille is complaining she can’t eat it all.”

“Oh well, I, um, well, you know,” Richard desperately scrambled about for an excuse. “I wouldn’t want to interrupt your, um, traditions. I can wait here there’s no hurry.” Which was a lie, Father Charles had said he would be coming into the school at 11 that day but Richard was welcome to use the music room before that and he was desperate to do so. He nervously fingered the key in his pocket.

“Don’t be silly, come in!” Catherine had a way of making friendly suggestions sound just like orders. He reluctantly followed her from the car.

Camille was sitting at the table with damp hair, which immediately led to flashbacks of them accidently trashing the hotel bathroom in Cambridge. They had stuck to beds after that, though Camille had made a few suggestions that had made him blush. He promptly turned his attention to the kitchen table and began babbling, afraid either woman would now read his thoughts.

“Oh you’re having pancakes! We only really have pancakes on Shrove Tuesday, and then it’s for tea and not for breakfast. Why are you putting Nutella on them?”

“They’re crepes, not pancakes,” Catherine pointed out.

He examined them again, “They look like pancakes to me…”

Catherine opened her mouth, probably to argue, but much to his surprise Camille jumped in, “Crepes are a kind of pancake _Maman_.” There was an air of finality to the statement.

“I suppose,” Catherine said with a small shrug, apparently willing to accept her daughter’s point. Richard suspected that if it wasn’t Camille’s birthday, he and Catherine would be bickering right now. “Are you going to have one?” She asked.

“I really don’t think I could eat chocolate this early in the morning…don’t suppose you have any lemon?” Catherine hadn’t, though began to make several other topping suggestions. Richard was rapidly getting the impression he would not be leaving until he had eaten at least 4.

“I should go now _Maman,_ besides I couldn’t eat another bite!” Camille stood suddenly, kissing her mother airily and gathering her things. He tried not to look too relieved.

 

* * *

 

 

It didn’t take Camille long to realise they were not on the way to the station. “Oh, there hasn’t been a murder has there?”

“Nope, it would be a brave person who committed a murder on Saint Marie today. When we caught them not only would they have to answer to the courts, but to your Mother for ruining all her plans,” He joked, then realised what he had just revealed. “Not that I am saying your Mother has any particular plans today, I mean maybe she does – why would I know?”

Camille decided to save him from himself, “It’s alright Richard, I did already know about my birthday lunch. Though I will be acting appropriately surprised anyway.”

“Yes, I sort of thought you’d figure it out.” She also didn’t fail to notice he hadn’t explained where they were going yet.

“So are we off to investigate some lesser crime, then?” She prompted. Now she looked at him properly, she realised he was looking more than a little nervous, which only served to pique her curiosity further.

“No, no crimes. I told Dwayne and Fidel we would be a little late.” Camille smirked, she didn’t even think he was being deliberately vague – he was just so nervous he forgot to tell her the salient facts.

“Because...?”

“Oh, right, yes. Um, we’re going to the school.”

“This isn’t another science experiment?” She asked wearily, though it was largely feigned. She actually quite enjoyed it when he explained things to her, but she was not particularly in the mood for a lecture today.

“Would I do that to you on your birthday?”

She was pretty certain that was meant to be a joke, but she still replied a little moodily, “Yes.”

Camille thought she saw him roll his eyes, a habit he had most likely picked up from her, “Well, no that isn’t why.”

When he once again failed to elaborate, she half shouted, “Then why?!”

Richard jumped slightly, but maintained control of the car. “To give you your birthday present,” he told her quickly. Camille had no clue what sort of present could possibly be at the school. Her instinct was to immediately start pestering him for details – and she would have but then they were pulling up so she figured that perhaps she could wait after all.

At the gate, he dropped the keys to the padlock, and Camille was forced to suppress a smile. She had a sudden feeling that things might be about to go her way…

 

* * *

 

 

Camille followed him closely up to the music room, which wasn’t really helping with the bout of nerves he was currently suffering. When she got into the room she seemed to realise what was happening. “Oh, I forgot I asked you to play!”

This caused him to suffer a jolt of disappointment. “Um, do you not want me to..?”

“I didn’t say that!” She said quickly.

“Right, good,” he lifted the lid of the piano and sat down. He was rather expecting Camille to take one of the other chairs in the room but instead she somehow squeezed on to the piano stool with him. The warmth of her body pressed next to his sent his heart rate up another 20 beats a minute and he seriously considered the risk of it just failing altogether. Part of him thought he should ask her to move, that he could claim it would be difficult to play with her there, but another apparently louder part of him argued that it was her birthday and she could sit where she liked. Especially when it felt this nice.

She was looking at him expectantly and he realised he was supposed to start playing. He hadn’t brought the music with him in the end, convinced he did know it off by heart, but in that moment his mind went blank. Then he caught the scent of her perfume and suddenly all came back to him – even though he was sure it must be some sort of cliché he figured she must be his muse or something.

Richard got into the piece pretty quickly, stumbled on one note near the start but didn’t actually think she’d noticed. It was about 5 minutes long, he didn’t want her getting bored by anything more extravagant. When he finished, there was no round of applause. Instead he looked up and found her just smiling softly at him – well, it couldn’t be a bad sign, could it?

“That was beautiful Richard, really, thank you,” she said, and he thought sincerely as well.

“You liked it, then?” He still felt the need to ask for clarification.

“Very much,” Camille confirmed, briefly reaching out to squeeze his hand. “What’s it called?”

“Oh,” he said, a little surprised by the question. “I didn’t think to give it a name.”

“ _You_ didn’t think to give it a name? You mean you wrote it?”

He nodded his confirmation, slightly confused by her almost shocked reaction. “Wow! I didn’t realise you could compose and play the piano. Did you write it at school then?”

“Uh, no,” he replied, even more confused. “Over the past couple of weeks.”

She frowned briefly, and then a look of something akin to awe appeared on her face, “You wrote it for _me_?” She asked disbelievingly.

Richard nodded again. “You did ask me to play you something for your birthday,” he added for clarity.

“I meant happy birthday or something!”

“Oh right, well, I feel pretty stupid now.” And he wasn’t really joking when he said that either – he did feel like a fool. He had thrown himself into the task to write her a piece of music and all she had really been after was for him to pluck out a tune he had been able to play since he was 4. She probably thought he had reached a whole new level of idiocy this time.

“I can’t believe…” She began, hesitantly. “I mean, you _really_ wrote that for me?”

He nodded, avoiding her gaze, as there wasn’t much point in denying what he had already admitted now. It wasn’t going to save him any face. She was probably struggling to think of something polite to say now.  

“It’s the most romantic thing anybody has ever done for me.” Oh, right, that wasn’t what he was expecting. “Richard.” There was a firmness to her tone that meant he had to look up at her. “Richard, please don’t…I…I’m going to kiss you and I swear to God if you push me off this time you’ll break my heart.”

The words escaped his mouth before he had time to think them through, “Even if I wanted to I don’t think I could.” And it was true, he realised, when she looked at him like that he was simply incapable of rejecting her no matter what the cost may turn out to be.

Almost as soon as he had finished the sentence, she leaned forward and kissed him and he responded – hands moving to tangle themselves in her hair. In their attempts to get closer to each other they ended up half tumbling off the stool and onto the floor. A thought briefly occurred to him that if they got caught like this they would probably end up on some kind of register, but the desire he felt was never going to allow that thought to influence his actions.

Camille had pushed his jacket from his shoulders and tossed it aside. He paused for a moment and breaking away from her he grabbed his jacket and began to fold it carefully.

“Argh!” Camille cried, hitting him on the chest with her fists in frustration. “Richard, now is not the time to worry about creases!”

He smirked, then gently tucked the jacket under her head so it no longer rested directly against the floor. “I didn’t want you to hurt your head,” he explained softly, stroking her hair as he looked down at her.

“Ok,” she replied, voice equally quiet and perhaps a little embarrassed by her outburst. She reached up and brought pulled him down to kiss her again.

He didn’t bother folding any of his other clothes. 


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short little conclusion. Changed my mind about how to end this. Will perhaps write the original ending as a standalone post script one day!

 

Basking in the afterglow of lovemaking is a little difficult when the wooden floor you are laying on is both cold (a miracle given the climate) and uncomfortable. Richard quickly felt guilty, because he was uncomfortable after only a few moments but Camille had just spent significantly longer on her back than him…

“God, Sorry,” he apologised, reaching to pull her so she lay half on top of him. “The hard floor of the music room isn’t exactly romantic is it?”

“I was suitably distracted at the time,” she said, but he noted she did not object to using him as a pillow now.

“We can’t exactly lay here for long anyway. I think Father Charles will arrive in half an hour and I’d rather not get caught…”

This statement triggered a burst of hysterical giggles from Camille which did not subside for some time. When they eventually he took the opportunity to kiss her again and then dragged himself to his feet, offering her a hand as well. She looked a little reluctant but accepted it. He went around collecting items of clothing from the various places they had been discarded in the room.

“I’m a little surprised we had the patience to take all our clothes off,” he commented, as he stared at his tie thoughtfully.

When he looked up, Camille was looking particularly amused, “What?”

“Well it was _you_ who was rather insistent that we did!”

“Was it?” He said, surprised. Thinking back he could remember Camille protesting he was taking too much time. An unusual complaint given the activity. Camille was glaring at him now, and he was trying to figure out what he had said wrong. Unable to put his finger on it, he was reduced to just saying, “What?” again.

“It was barely minutes ago and you’ve forgotten!” She snapped. Well, he could see how he might have given that impression – and why it would anger her so much.

“No, no, no!” He cried quickly. “It’s not like that, it’s just that, um, it’s very all-encompassing. I don’t really think that much…I do remember now!”

For a few moment, Richard held his breath whilst Camille seemed to decide if that was a good thing or a bad thing. Eventually she gave a small smile and said, “Well, you do need to switch off sometimes. Glad I can be of assistance…”

He grinned back, relieved she was no longer angry. In fact she was looking a little sly now, sidling across the room and standing in front of him, playing the tie he was trying to put on. Her proximity caused his fingers to fumble, and he found himself unable to do the damn thing up properly. This seemed to amuse Camille greatly.

“So, you going to take me back to your place?”

This question led his fingers to still entirely, “You mean, um, to…”

“Yes,” she said, confirming his suspicions. “You’ve made me wait far too long to share your bed, and there won’t be anybody way out there to disturb us either!”

It sounded like the _best idea ever_ to Richard, but the practical part of his brain was functioning again now and he felt it necessary to point out, “But we’re due back at work!”

“Oh,” she looked disappointed. “I assumed you had gotten us the morning off. Oh well, I’ll just call Dwayne and make up some excuse! I mean personally I am not sure I’d get any work done this morning anyway…”

Richard was inclined to agree. If there was no murder or other urgent case than one morning off wasn’t going to do any harm, was it? Oh God, she was probably the only person on the planet who could get him to actually skive. He was glad she had volunteered to do the lying because he would never have gotten away with it.

 

* * *

  

Camille could hear the smirk in Dwayne’s voice, and was glad she had decided to make the call. Richard would probably falter under the insinuations Dwayne made as he accepted her excuse for why they wouldn’t be in until lunchtime.

“You know there is _nothing_ going on here, so there is really no need to come in. You feel free to _enjoy_ whatever _presents_ you might be offered. If there is a murder, we’ll call.”

“Thanks, Dwayne,” she said, with only the tiniest hint of a warning in her tone.

“You have fun now!” She had almost expected him to say ‘if you can’t be good, be careful’.

After she hung up Richard shot her a sideways glance, clearly suspicious. “They said they would call if there was a murder,” was the only response she gave, hoping he wouldn’t push for further details. He didn’t, but then he also didn’t lose the slight look of concern.

Perfectly aware she was acting like a loved up teenager, Camille practically jumped out of the car when they reached his bungalow and half danced up the steps – waiting for him at the door with her most seductive smile on. She couldn’t help but notice he was a little more reluctant in following her, which turned her smile into a frown. Richard unlocked the door and she followed him in closely and though tempted to just jump him immediately she could sense the shift in his mood so refrained.

When he tried to put some distance between them, Camille felt a sudden spike of anxiety that he may have changed his mind again, “What is it?”

“It’s just, well…” He wasn’t looking at her, that couldn’t be a good sign either. “I never really had a chance of staying away from you, did I?” She nearly laughed in relief, so he wasn’t trying to break up with her after all.

“Nope!” Camille told him cheerfully. He still seemed hesitant though, and her instincts told her that Richard might be trying to tell her something else but didn’t quite have the courage to do so. She decided to try prompting him, “You know why that is right?”

He almost instantly blushed, and Camille had to resist the urge to throw herself at him again because damn it, she found his shyness really quite endearing. Instead she smiled gently and stepped close to him, saying, “Honestly, you are so confident when you’re in bed with me and then you just go all shy again…”

“Well then it’s dark…” he explained.

“It wasn’t this morning,” she was quick to point out.

“And I’m also drunk on you.”

She smiled, took another step towards him and pressed her forehead to his, “Do you want me to say it?”

“Well, you know, then I would be sure we were on the same page…”

Camille was really hoping he could have been confident enough to say it, but she had to except that with him being the sort of man he was that he was always going to be unwilling to take emotional risks without some serious encouragement. She didn’t mind taking the leap again, “I love you.”

She half expected him to sigh in relief, was a little surprised when his response was to immediately kiss her thoroughly. Not bad surprised, but she had been hoping for something else as well. Camille didn’t feel like interrupting his attentions straight away, but after a few minutes she did pull back and ask, “Have you not going anything to tell me?”

This time he did give a little sigh. “I’m trying to,” he said, sincerity evident in his tone, before he went back to kissing her. She was sorely tempted to let him get away with it, but knew that it was his insecurities that were holding him back and the sooner the two of them knocked those on the head the better.

“Come on, I’ve just told you that I love you, I’m hardly going to reject you!”

He looked almost bashful, “You might realise just what you’re getting yourself into and change your mind when you hear it, though…”

“I know what I’m getting myself into,” she told him firmly. “So spit it out!”

“Oh, you’re so romantic,” he joked weakly, but she fixed him with a look that made it clear she wanted not further delays. “Fine. Camille Genevieve Bordey, I love you.”

Her initial reaction was to cringe at the use of her middle name, something he must have read in her file because she never admitted to it. This was obviously not the reaction Richard had been hoping for, and he cautiously asked, “Is that ok?”

The phrasing of the question caused her to laugh, “It is far more than ok. Though I’d rather you never called me Genevieve again!”

“But I like it! It’s pretty!” He protested as he placed a hand on the side of her face.

She leaned into his touch, “Yes, but you will find your life much pleasanter if you pretend I have no middle name!” Before he could argue further, she grabbed him by the tie and pulled him in for a kiss. She pushed him backwards towards the bed, and he offered no resistance. They both ended up laughing between kisses as they tumbled on to it and Camille knew one thing for certain – they were going to be in trouble with her Mother for being late to lunch. 


End file.
